


Damaged and Delusional

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 05:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2840588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo inhaled heartily. "I'll be fine," she said, voice thick with tears and muffled by his coat.</p><p>"I know you will," Henry replied simply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damaged and Delusional

**Author's Note:**

> I actually can't recall if there's any information about Jo's family out there. I wasn't quite as into the fandom when it first began as I am now, and I haven't done rewatches. For the sake of fic, I'm imagining Jo as a sort of Beckett scenario, involving family. (If it's not canon compliant and I forgot, please ignore it kindly.)
> 
> I do not own _Forever_. Thanks for reading!

Henry didn't look up reflexively when the doors to the morgue opened, but he licked his lips in preparation of the explanation of the fascinating death that he had taken charge of.

"Hey, doc. Whatcha got?"

Henry looked up then, tilting his head slightly from the fact that only Hanson had walked into the morgue. "No Detective Martinez today?"

Hanson looked at him oddly. "What, didn't you hear?"

"No, I haven't." His hands faltered over the scalpel at the look on Hanson's face, and he put it down in favour of giving his full attention to something else. "What happened?"

"Her dad, he, uh, he died."

Henry stiffened. "... When was this?" he asked slowly, trying to think. He had Sunday off, and he hadn't seen her Saturday, either, but he often went days without seeing anybody but Lucas and the rest of the morgue staff.

"Just this weekend. The funeral's today, a group of us were meant to go before the case showed up, I don't know if we'll get there now or not." He hummed. "But we're gonna try, so what've you got?"

Henry tried to shake himself from his thoughts. "Um. Right. I think this man was..."

　

 

"Lucas!"

"Right here." Lucas peered around the corner. "What's up?"

Henry pulled his lab coat off. "I'm stepping out. Finish up this autopsy, and give my notes to Detective Hanson if he comes back. I'll be back as soon as possible."

"Uh, okay." Lucas looked at him oddly. "But where are you-"

"Back soon," Henry called, having already grabbed his coat and scarf from the hook.

If he was estimating correctly, Jo would still be at the funeral, albeit the burial now. Henry, if he had time, would have gone home to change, but his current outfit would have to do. He also would have asked Detective Hanson to accompany him, but he'd lost track of him over the course of the day, and he suspected that he was chasing down the lead he had set him on. He wasn't putting too much thought into the gate-crashing of the burial that he was about to do, per se, but it didn't really feel right to stay put if only to fill out reports when someone should be with Jo right now.

He hoped that he wasn't overstepping boundaries. There was a fine line there, Henry knew, but... it just wasn't his style to sit by. Not like this.

He had barely started across the incline of the grass in the cemetery when Jo looked up and saw him. He smiled sadly and shoved his hands in his pockets, slowly picking his way around passer-by and tombstones.

"Henry... what are you doing here...?"

"I..." Henry glanced beyond Jo's shoulder to the grave that had only just been covered with fresh dirt. "I'm sorry, I only heard today."

Jo sighed softly. "No, I should have... I don't know. Sorry."

Henry gave her that same, slight smile. "Don't apologise. I wasn't sure if you would mind me stopping by to pay my respects..."

"What? No, but, I mean, you didn't know him." Jo glanced away from him, and over her shoulder, before shaking her head briskly. She looked back at Henry. She looked like she would rather be anywhere else, or having any other conversation.

Henry understood all too well.

"No, but I imagine that any man who raised you to be the woman you are today was a very good one indeed," he said gently. Second nature took over and he reached out to place his hand against her arm lightly. "On behalf of all the precinct, Jo, whom I very much suspect send their regards and sorrows to not be here with you."

Jo looked down at his hand, and then swallowed and met his gaze again. "My God, you're a smooth talker."

Henry smiled wryly. "Hopefully I don't come off as too cliché. Emotions have never been my strong suit," he admitted. They weren't. Through all the death and the destruction, they never would be, he suspected. He let his hand slip away from Jo's shoulder and then placed his hands back into his pockets. "I'm very sorry, Jo, but I'm sure he was very proud."

Jo smiled wearily. "... Maybe." She looked... fragile, perhaps. Child-like. Henry couldn't exactly pinpoint the look in her eyes beyond desolate, but there was a vulnerability that he had never seen, even after she'd been tethered to a hospital IV after being shot.

Someone else was approaching her to offer their condolences.

"I should go," Henry said, falling a step back. "I just wanted to..." What? Pay his respects. He had already said that. Make sure she was okay? That seemed too intimate.

"Don't," Jo said hurriedly.

Henry paused.

"I mean," Jo added, "you don't have to, I'm almost..." She cleared her throat and forced a smile. "Unless you have to get back to the case."

Henry was shaking his head before he thought about it. "No. I'm sure it can wait. I'll see you home, if that's agreeable."

Maybe her smile wasn't quite so forced just then. "That would be great, Henry. You're a lifesaver."

Ten minutes later, they were tucked in the back of a cab. Jo wasn't talking, however, and Henry was at a loss himself. Jo wasn't the easiest book to read by any means; she was almost as private as he was, and he wasn't sure what was too indelicate. Death was a tricky thing when one wasn't immortal. Not to say that it wasn't tricky _being_ immortal, either, but... it was touchy, in a different kind of way, and Henry had learned to respect that.

"You could have called," he ventured, gently, as they pulled into the traffic of New York City.

"... Yeah." Jo idly twitched at a loose thread on her coat. "I know. I just figured you would have heard from the precinct, but I guess it didn't get around to the morgue. It doesn't matter, really, but-"

"Of course it does," Henry interrupted, looking back at her. "You're my friend, Jo."

Jo stared at him blankly for a moment before turning away to the window. "You make it sound like we're in the third grade." She was good at that, deflecting. Henry recognised that so well, too.

"Perhaps," he said, "but I assure you that the sentiment remains the same."

Jo sighed and fell into silence again. The conversation dropped, and Henry was wise enough not to push the subject. Simply having a calming presence nearby could be enough in a time of grief. He wasn't sure if he was that presence in particular, but he liked to think he was trying nonetheless.

"Thanks," Jo mumbled, once they had arrived at her home. "Um, I can get you a... uh." She pushed her fingers back through her hair. "I can make coffee. Or tea, you-you drink tea more than coffee, don't you?"

"Either is fine." Henry watched her fumble with the buttons on her coat in her haste to get it unbuttoned. "But you don't have to go to all the trouble-"

"No." She wrenched the last button free. "It's okay. Give me a second." She tossed her coat onto the chair and strode determinedly into the kitchen.

Henry's breath left him in a rush.

He was seeing with startlingly clarity just _why_ they got along so well. They were _similar_ , in ways that Henry had never had any reason to think about. He didn't know if that thrilled him, or... scared him. In any case, it gave him something to think about until Jo came back with coffee or tea.

But she didn't.

Coffee _or_ tea didn't take so long to make; Henry would know, he made enough of it to a point that was probably unhealthy. He fidgeted. "... Jo?" No response was forthcoming. Uneasiness prickled at the edges of his subconscious, propelling him into movement. "Jo?"

He rounded the corner to the kitchen, relieved to find her there, although his relief was quickly overtaken when he saw the tear tracks on her cheeks. "Jo..."

Jo straightened up slightly, smearing her hands across her face. "Oh, Henry, I'm sorry, I... yeah, I think it's probably brewed." She scrubbed at her eyes and turned for the mugs of tea, jerking the tea bags out of the steaming beverage. "I, uh." She cleared her throat. "Sorry, again, lost track of myself."

Henry frowned and reached into his pocket, whisking his handkerchief free. He offered it to her wordlessly.

Jo just stared at the handkerchief for a long minute before her eyes swam with tears again. Tea and company forgotten, she spun away. Henry reached out on reflex to catch her arm to pull her back against his chest.

It was only afterwards that he worried that might have just crossed that ever-so-fragile boundary.

In the end, it didn't matter. Jo didn't pull away. Henry took it as a positive, gently weaving his fingers into her hair as she pressed her forehead against his shoulder. He had gone so long without human contact that it almost felt foreign for him to hold another grieving person in his arms. He could take care of himself, relatively. And Abe. But he was lost on taking care of others; he had been out of practice too long. His free hand fell into the small of her back effortlessly, though, and even when Jo didn't make a move to either hug him back or move away, Henry found that the instincts never truly went away. They just got smothered through the centuries.

Again, in a way, death was making him feel life again.

How morbid a life he led, and yet, it never ceased to be full of wonder.

"I know," he said softly, in response to nothing, and closed his eyes. He wouldn't tell her that it was okay, or that her father was in a better place. He never cared much for that kind of sentiment himself, and he figured that Jo would not appreciate it, either. So, instead: "I understand, Jo."

It was the best he could do for her. It wasn't much, but he hoped it was enough.

Jo inhaled heartily. "I'll be fine," she said, voice thick with tears and muffled by his coat. She didn't move away from her position of being tucked against his chest.

"I know you will," Henry replied simply. _Because you're strong_ , he added mentally, but it felt too personal to say out loud. "But I'm here in the meantime, if you need me."

Jo didn't reply, but she still didn't pull away. Henry thought it was answer enough.

They fell into silence again. It was companionable - grieving, but companionable - this time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> AND A MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE TO YOU.
> 
> (don't worry there's fluff coming tomorrow if can get it written in between celebrating :P)


End file.
